Rain falls gray against the concrete,

reminders of Earth’s renewal.

It takes time and patience,

neither of which I have

in this moment.

But the world grows around me,

unburdened by constant waiting,

while time slips in fairytale bubbles

behind my thoughts,

as if frozen.

And I take a breath—

a long slow inhale, seventy-eight

percent nitrogen, twenty percent oxygen,

argon, carbon dioxide—

though none of it

holds in my chest for very long. I gasp

clutching my coat, fall to my knees,

wet on the concrete. Cracks fill silver

reflections from the sky,

as it draws on truth:

T...

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